


Sing, O Muse

by Grundy



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Fourth Age, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-24
Updated: 2019-09-24
Packaged: 2020-10-27 05:11:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20754890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grundy/pseuds/Grundy
Summary: While staying in Annuminas, Arwen encounters a certain singer.





	Sing, O Muse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Independence1776](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Independence1776/gifts).

Arwen had suspected when Faramir was so very pleased with himself when he promised her something she would not have heard before this evening.

It was likely to be his only visit to Annuminas. As such, the Prince of Ithilien was seizing every opportunity to see what he could of the North before he returned to his own country. He often shared his discoveries with Arwen and her daughters, and had been absolutely delighted on the few occasions he and Eowyn had been able to present their queen with something new to her.

Faramir might not have a practiced ear by elven standards, but he knew enough to differentiate fine singing from merely good, and to recognize Quenya. For him to judge a singer ‘quite special, even by what you were used to in your father’s house, I’ll wager’ was therefore rather singular.

Not that she thought he knew who the singer truly was. Even she has never heard her foster-grandfather sing before. She had only a tale told to her by her brothers, of the magical voice they had heard once as children.

When Faramir’s singer finally made his appearance after dinner, she was certain even before he began.

It was hard to believe that Men could miss the telltale signs that this was a High Elf, much less a man such as Faramir. The eyes alone should have given him away. And there could be no other High Elf left on these shores.

Arwen sat silent as Maglor son of Fëanor sang of beauty poignant enough to set half her court to tears. They might not understand the words, but the greatest bard of the Noldor was voicing the beauty of bygone days in Valinor, and all present could feel it.

She waited until he had finished before she called him to her – by the name he had given Faramir, of course – wondering if he would actually come. He must know who she was, and that she would have recognized him.

To her surprise, he made no attempt to evade her.

“Would you have another song, o fairest?” he asked quietly.

“Yes,” she said gravely, startled by foresight that had not come on her since her marriage. “But not today, I think.”

“Oh?” he asked, wary now.

“This is not the place or the time for your greatest work,” she told him. “Yet I would hear the Noldolantë sung properly once before I depart.”

The eyes that met hers were as deep as the sea, and filled with sorrow and grief enough for more than just four Ages.

“A hard request, my dear,” he said at last. “But how can I refuse?”

“Would you refuse me, should I ask one more thing of you?” she asked, cautious lest she give too much away. She knew how her father longed to see him again...

“It would be churlish to refuse a dying woman,” he replied.

She laughed at the reminder that though to Atani eyes she was the picture of youth, to the Quendi, her time was so measured that it scarce mattered whether it was tomorrow or in ten years’ time that she passed beyond the circles of the world.

She did not believe death was quite so imminent – Estel was still hale, and Eldarion not yet prepared for the burden of kingship.

“I shall save it for when I am nearly gone, then,” she smiled. “So long as you will come?”

“I rarely venture as far south as Gondor,” he cautioned her.

“I do not think you will need to,” Arwen replied.

Their eyes met properly for the first time, and he knew as she did where they would meet, for her last song.

“It would be fitting that I should sing you to sleep once,” he said at last, bowing his head.

She formed a silent prayer to Nienna as she watched him leave the hall.

His lament will be her dirge. But her final request may well be his salvation.


End file.
